To Wish Upon a Star
by reraimu
Summary: Andy has wished upon one too many stars, and to his surprise, they finally come true. Human!Woody/Andy SLASH. MAJOR FLUFF WARNING. one-shot


**Title: To Wish Upon a Star**

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Woody/Andy**

**Summary: Andy has wished upon one too many stars, and to his surprise, they finally come true. Human!Woody/Andy SLASH**

**Warnings: MAJOR FLUFF, REALLY, IT'S LIKE MOLASSES. IT'S THAT SWEET. Oh yeah, and Slash between Woody and Andy I guess. 8D**

**A/N: Man, I'm miffed at Disney's portrayal of Andy in the movie. He's so…typical, like come on. At least Sid's the garbage man, that's quirky and sad! **

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"This isn't going to work."

It had been one too many times he wished upon that same star, nothing ever coming from it, and even though his childhood tendencies screamed for him to wish again, he was tentative. He hadn't done it in a very long while, not since he was still in middle school, and doing so now while he was 17 and very much a teenager—it seemed different, taboo, as if he were to wish, it would somehow come true.

It was a stupid wish, a childhood tendency that paved way to wayward daydreams, and even thinking about it sent a flurry of heat to his cheeks. Andy let a chaste sigh escape his lips, before manning it up and stepping outside on the front porch steps. He tilted his head and peered up, azure eyes probing the vast expanse of sky that lay riddled with twinkling stars. Sometimes he would lose himself staring up into that sky, and sometimes he thought of himself flying up there, exploring the galaxy one planet at a time, yet when he managed to come down to earth and faced the reality that was his world, everything seemed to dull in comparison to his dreams.

His mother had called him a dreamer, his friends had called him creative, and his teachers were another story altogether, and really, Andy didn't know whom to believe. Was he all of those things? Andy let a frown sprawl across his lips, the expression so peculiar on his countenance. He hadn't been doing much of any of those things since he hit high school. What happened to all those times he used to spend drawing or writing some bizarre story, most of which involved the courageous cowboy Woody, or the times when he would drop what he was doing to stare off and daydream? Had he lost his creative knack, had his imagination escaped him? Or perhaps it was merely the loss of his tools, his toys, the plastic beings that gave him the inspiration in the first place. He can't even remember the last time he even opened his old toy chest…

Andy took one final glimpse at the night sky, eyes anchoring on a lone star that glimmered and shined with a vibrant luminosity. He shook his head and breathed, the wish dying on his lips.

"I wish he were real."

* * *

Andy pushed the copper key into the doorknob, and when finding it unlocked, he cocked an eyebrow in confusion and turned the knob, pushing the door open. He stood at the threshold, watching as his mother frantically roamed about the house grabbing various things, while Molly stood off to the side leaning against the banister, looking decidedly bored.

"What are you two doing here so early?" Andy queried, unhooking his backpack and dropping it to the floor. His mother worked at a nearby office firm and usually got home around five or so, while Molly took the school bus home and arrived around four. He didn't understand why they were here so early, or why his mother looked so off kilter.

Mrs. Davis halted in her ministrations, two water bottles cradled in her arms as she shot a watery smile at Andy. "It's Auntie Sandra, something's wrong with Niles."

"Uncle Niles? Why, what happened?" Andy questioned while striding towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge and shimmied his hand around inside, pulling out a soda can. He quickly closed the fridge door and plopped down onto a nearby chair, opening the Coke can with a fizzling pop.

"I just got here about five minutes ago, I had to pull Molly out of school early," Mrs. Davis explained, trotting towards the living room where she then stuffed the water bottles into a dark green traveling bag. "Niles is in the hospital, apparently he had a mild stroke."

"A stroke? No way, I mean, isn't he a bit too young?" Andy asked, bemused. Uncle Niles was only 43 and appeared to be relatively healthy, or what Andy could make from his Aunt and Uncle's sparse visits. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know, Sandra was panicking on the phone- couldn't get any info from her," Mrs. Davis hurriedly quipped, slinging the traveling tote over her shoulder. "Alright, Molly sweetie, did you pack your extra set of clothes in the bag?"

"Yeahhhh, I did," Molly sighed, her eyes fluttering. She brushed a stray strand of curly hair from her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why can't I stay with Andy? It's a Friday!"

"I already told you Molly, you gotta' ask Andy, not me," Mrs. Davis muttered. She trotted back to the kitchen and placed a chaste kiss on top of Andy's head. "We're going to the hospital the next town over- I might stay and calm down Sandra a bit. We might spend the night, maybe not, depends- you know how she is; she gets all anxious in these types of situations. Oh, and Andy sweetie, did you lock your door?"

"What?" Andy replied, furrowing his brow.

"Your door is closed and when I tried to open it, it was locked," Mrs. Davis answered. She made her way towards Molly and began fussing over the pre-teens hair, tugging at a wiry tangle.

"Oh, maybe I must have accidentally locked it, no problem. I'll use the knife again."

"Pleeeease, can I stay Andy?" Molly begged, clasping her hands together. She grimaced when her mother tugged a little too hard at her hair. "Please, please, please? I promise I won't annoy you."

Andy leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, sending a curt glare at his sister. He knew she was lying, the little brat. "No."

"Jerk-face."

"Molly, stop it, come on now we gotta' go," Mrs. Davis chided, grabbing Molly by the wrist. Andy laughed to himself as he watched Molly being half dragged across the living room, all the while sticking a pink tongue out at him—she looked positively murderous.

"Bye honey, I'll call you once we get to the hospital, and please take care of the house," Mrs. Davis called over her shoulder, and when the door closed and clicked shut, Andy smiled.

What luck, not for Uncle Niles of course, but Andy would never pass up a weekend all to himself. No Molly to annoy him, no Mom to dish out chores—just an empty house, an impending weekend, and tonight's Ghost Adventures.

Yes, he could get quite used to this.

* * *

After spending a fair amount of time fixing himself a snack in the kitchen and watching a few shows on the TV in the living room, Andy decided it was time to pry open his bedroom door. Grabbing a knife from the dish rack, Andy clambered up the stairs and traipsed over to his door. There had been plenty of times when he had accidentally locked himself out of his own room, and years of pick-locking experience made him practically an expert. Guiding the sharp jut of the knife towards the keyhole, Andy swiftly toggled the knife and jerked it sideways, the keyhole turning along with it. A residual clicking noise sounded from the knob and Andy smiled at his handiwork, tugging the knife out the knob. Before placing his hand on the knob to turn it open, he heard his mattress squeak, and Andy backed away from the door, the knife hanging at his side.

Weird, maybe Buster was locked in there…?

With a turn of the knob, Andy slowly pushed the door open and peered inside.

He yelled.

There was a guy on his bed…a guy…on his bed. What in the…

"What the hell—WHO ARE YOU?" the teen hollered, his body hovering over the threshold. Andy brought up the knife he so conveniently held in his hand and thrust it before him, arms shaking.

The gangly young man who sat hunched on his bed visibly flinched, long fingers fiddling within his lap. Andy took a step back, horrified, when he noticed the man's attire.

Oh dear God—a cosplayer.

The man's wide-brimmed tanned hat sat beside him. He shuffled his elongated fingers through a crop of neatly styled chestnut hair, while his other hand pulled absent-mindedly at the red bandana tied around his neck. There was a wayward frown sprawled across the man's slim lips, russet colored orbs squinted in sheepishness. The stranger let a sigh escape his lips, while locking gazes with Andy.

"I guess it worked this time, huh Partner?"

Andy stood there with his mouth agape as the knife clattered to the floor. Okay, just a moment ago he would have thought that this strange person nestled on his bed was some crazy whack-job cosplayer who liked dressing in faded yellow plaid shirts and denim blue jeans—maybe the guy liked looking like a cowboy, complete with buckled boots and all, maybe it was how the guy got off, but all of that seemed to flush from Andy's mind when the stranger spoke.

That voice—so achingly familiar, so similar, so…

"Real," Andy breathed, his voice a clouded whisper. Oh no, he didn't even want to think of what this could mean, he didn't want to voice the implications aloud. Could this man, this cowboy with the lopsided grin and impish wide eyes actually be…no, it was impossible—the wishes never worked. Why now all of a sudden? He had spent the better part of his childhood wishing and dreaming, always lost in a torrent of thoughts and ideas when he could have been out having a social life like any ordinary kid. Had it really worked this time?

Andy heard his mattress squeak again and he rounded upon the stranger, who was now standing up, long arms hanging at his sides.

"Andy, I- ."

"Don't come any closer," Andy warned, his voice oddly low. The stranger halted instantly, his lips parting open as if he were about to say something, but no words tumbled out. He looked out of place, Andy noted, as if he didn't quite know what to do. For a moment, a sense of pity washed over Andy, before he quickly dispelled the fleeting emotion and hardened his stare.

"Andy, please, let me explain- ."

"There's nothing to explain," Andy bit out, slowly crouching low to the floor to retrieve the knife. Once he grasped the knife's handle, the teen immediately sprang up, the weapon clutched at his side. "I don't know who you are, or why you're in my room, but in the next five seconds, I want you out!"

"Andy," the man whispered, taking a tentative step forward. Andy sprang back, a scowl marring his features.

"Before I call the police!" Andy nearly yelled, holding the knife up. The man looked crestfallen—a deep frown took hold of his lips and his eyes lidded, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides.

"Andy, please…" the stranger groaned, taking another step forward. Andy stood there, knife at the ready, a defensive stance to his posture, while he warily watched the stranger inch gradually closer. The cowboy's boots made profound thumps across the carpeted floor; an occasional jingle resounding from the metal spokes sticking out the end of both heels. Andy subconsciously lowered the knife as a scent wafted in, a scent that smelled strangely of faded leather and grass and sunshine, and he remembered days playing outside in the balmy sun, with Woody by his side and happiness the only emotion he could feel…

…and he could feel two sturdy arms wrapping around him, the knife falling to the floor once again, and Andy felt so warm, so incredibly warm.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," the man breathed, warm breathe fanning across Andy's neck. The firm grip around Andy's waist tightened, and the cowboy leaned in, his lips resting beside Andy's ear. "I can prove it, ya' know."

"W-what?" Andy's whispered, pulling away from the man's embrace. "You're crazy…"

The stranger gently took a hold of Andy's wrist and rubbed his thumb over the thin stretch of skin there, reveling in the soft texture, and the teen noticed the way the man let a small smile consume his lips, a twinkle to his eyes, before the cowboy slowly began to lead Andy towards the bed. Andy's throat tightened and a strange lump rested at the pit of his stomach—he didn't feel like himself anymore, he felt like he was in a haze.

The man reluctantly let go of Andy's wrist and sat down upon the bed, looking up at the teen with imploring eyes. The cowboy lifted his leg.

"Look," he gestured, raising his boot.

"What?"

"Look under my boot."

"Ew, what, why - ?"

Andy's breath hitched. There, scrawled haphazardly on the underside of the cowboy's boot, read _**Andy**_in thick, bold letters. In the next instant, Andy's legs felt wobbly and unbalanced, and they buckled, sending him tumbling to the floor, and the cowboy, no—Woody, hurriedly got up from the bed, alarmed by Andy's sudden fall.

"Andy?"

The teen in question looked up, blue optics instantaneously locking with russet colored ones.

"No way," Andy breathed. He felt that familiar burning sensation tingling its way across his chest, the signal of approaching tears, but instead of letting them fall, Andy's eyes got red and watery, the smoldering feeling tickling his nose. After all those times he wished upon that one star, after all the times his wish was rejected over and over again, finally it happened. "I don't know what to say…this is so freaking weird."

Woody seated himself on the floor in front of Andy and leaned forward, wrapping his arms once again around the teen. He pulled the boy close to him, until Andy's head rested snugly on the groove of Woody's shoulder. Andy didn't know why he was letting Woody do this to him, shouldn't he be still freaking out? There was a man hugging him, a cowboy, Woody…his best friend. He had wished for this to happen, had wished all his life, and now that it had finally come true…

"More weirder than that time at cowboy camp?" the sheriff whispered, his voice lilting as he smiled against Andy's hair. He felt the boy stiffen against him, and out of curiosity, Woody gently pushed Andy away, grinning when he saw how flushed the boy's face had gotten.

"That was our secret," Andy mumbled, looking away from the cowboy.

"It's still ours," Woody corrected, gently nudging the boy on the shoulder. In a moment of audaciousness, Woody outstretched his hand and ran his fingers, human fingers he thought, down the length of Andy's cheek. And when the boy didn't protest, Woody continued on, trailing his fingers through Andy's hair, gliding them down the teen's neck and- .

"Woah," Andy yelped, pulling away marginally. He stared at Woody, whose hand was still outstretched, fingers parted. "A bit touchy-feely?"

Woody chuckled and lowered his hand, resting it on his jean-clad lap. "You dunno' how long…I mean, I can finally do it now. I wasn't able to before, not like this."

"Wait, before?" Andy leaned in and scrutinized the cowboy. What did Woody mean by before? Had he always been…no, it wasn't possible, was it?

Woody took Andy's hand and laced their fingers together, his eyes fluttering. "Yeah, before. You heard me right."

"Were you, were they…oh my God," Andy trailed off, visibly shaken. "You guys are alive?"

"In a sense, yeah," Woody replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm the leader y'know." He brought Andy's hand to his lips and rested them there—the slide of skin against skin made Andy shiver.

"Are they listening to us right now?" Andy questioned, curiosity wracking his brain.

"Probably," Woody voiced.

Andy drew back, a smile consuming his face as he glimpsed at the toy chest tucked away into the farthest corner of his room. This was amazing, a scientific breakthrough! Imagine, living, breathing toys! What would it be like to finally talk with them? Would they be just how he imagined them to be? A perplexed frown replaced his smile, and the boy turned to Woody. "But how?"

"Magic, I suppose," Woody whispered, placing tender kisses to each of Andy's fingers.

"Why didn't you ever talk to me, why didn't you ever show me—I…in middle school," Andy choked, red ringing around his eyes. Middle school had been the toughest part of his childhood, one that he wanted to forget entirely. Those three years of ridicule and teasing and bullying, the relentless name-calling and goading, just thinking about it made Andy want to seethe in anger and go after all those who had tormented him.

Seeing Andy's miserable expression, Woody quickly placed both his hands on either side of Andy's face. He leaned in close, his brow furrowing. "You don't know how badly I wanted to talk with you Andy, so much so that Buzz and Jesse had to constantly keep me restrained. Those days when you would come home crying, when you'd have those bruises…"

Andy watched as Woody lowered his gaze, his eyes smoldering with muted fire. His whole countenance glowered, his facial features contorting in rage, until Andy placed a hand on the cowboy's shoulder. Woody stilled and calmed, placing his own hand atop Andy's; he cast the boy a grateful smile.

"All those people that did those things to you," Woody silently hissed. He turned to Andy then. "Just know that every night, I was there. Every night while you were asleep, I'd sneak out of the toy chest and get that first-aid kit that you never touched, and I'd tend to your cuts. The toys helped too sometimes. All I wanted was to keep you safe and happy Andy, but the things that I wanted to do…they're very limited when you're nothin' but vinyl and stuffing."

"I always wondered why my window was always closed in the morning, when I clearly left it open," Andy whispered, staring up at Woody. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"You were cold," Woody shrugged.

"It's weird seeing you without your hat," Andy laughed, trailing his fingers through the soft, layered tufts of Woody's hair. "It's weird that it's even real right now. I always thought it'd be like this."

"That's what I love about you."

Andy quickly turned his head and lowered his hand, staring at Woody with his mouth agape. The cowboy studied Andy's expression and let a grin capture his lips, before he leaned forward and pressed a hand to the side of the teen's head.

"Your imagination, kiddo," Woody exhaled, tapping his fingers along Andy's temple. Woody leaned in just then, rubbing his nose tenderly against Andy's—an Eskimo kiss. "No matter what you do, or who you become, I'll always love ya' the same."

Andy didn't know to respond adequately enough, and really, he didn't know what to do period, however he did let himself succumb to instinct. He outstretched his arms and wrapped them around his favorite cowboy, pressing his face to Woody's chest. And as he heard the fluttering of the sheriff's heart, Andy smiled.

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**A/N: Told ya. Mmmmm, anyway, please leave a review if you can! :D**


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